Today I come before you with somewhat of a cautionary tale that covers two things: shady landlords and Hunter Douglas Shades. Wait, before I lose you, that’s not just a gratuitous product plug.
Here’s how it goes:
You’re a newly married couple, young and bright-eyed bushy-tailed folk, looking at the world through rose-tinted honeymoon glasses that make everything wonderful. Which is wonderful for you, and maybe those around you who get the reap the benefits of your glorious happiness (waiters and pizza delivery people and the like) but perhaps a bit—and just a bit, mind you—naïve. You find the perfect little house to live in together, close to work, close to the quirky-chic restaurant-and-shops district that’s almost downtown but not quite, close to a really quite excellent elementary school (you know, should you two ever make that decision, it does not hurt to plan for the future in the least). It’s a rental, because neither of you have the credit to buy a house. But that’s okay. You’re down for renting long term, because you know all about the risks and returns of both renting and buying a home.
Because that’s what this is to the two of you. A home, not just a house. Which is fabulous, until you notice something… shady about your landlord. And your landlord’s tendencies to be up all hours of the night, in his house right next to your used-to-be-a-detached-garage, now-a-wonderful-home-for-two-very-in-love-people house. With his somewhat unreasonably bright lights shining directly into your bedroom, which by rights should be an isolated island of peace and passions. Not a peninsula of blinding fluorescent light. What you need, right now as soon as humanly possible (so not really right now, because it’s currently 2AM and you are being kept awake by the aforementioned lights), are some really nifty window coverings. The whole nine yards, full coverage, getting all the possible little cracks that might wretchedly betray you at three in the morning as you roll over to snuggle into your honey’s arms. This is serious business.
So you go to the closest curtains store you can find, which turns out to be less than excellent in its selection of really light-blocking curtains (or something, right? Frankly, you’re a little overwhelmed by the variety. Curtains, blinds, coverings, shades, drapes, avant-garde part stained-glass part industrial wrappings not taken off and you don’t even know how that would work outside of a particularly unusual college dorm room). But then. Your saving grace, your Hail Mary, your miraculous bit of shade in a sun-blasted desert: the window treatment you’ve been waiting for. It covers the whole window. It lifts itself from the bottom, as most shades are wont to do. It lifts itself—and I cannot stress this enough—from the top, as most shades you are aware of most certainly do not do. It comes in a wide variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. It matches your bedspread flawlessly. You spend an hour in the showroom trying to ascertain if there’s some kind of trap in this glorious perfection before you, and there simply isn’t. You have them installed as quickly as you can, pull them snugly shut for the night, and spend a night in blissful darkness for the first time since you moved into your new home.